


Painting Frayed Glass.

by fearless_seas



Series: We Were Made of Sunshine and Gold [3]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 23:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: Pierre lives up to his word and the simple touches he gives reminds Charles how lucky he is.





	Painting Frayed Glass.

**Author's Note:**

> Pierre visits Charles for four days, this is day one and they'll be a separate fic in the series for each day. Semester is ending so great I get to write more. Hope you enjoy. French is my second language, let me know if anything needs to be changed. French translations at the bottom.

          He arrived late Saturday night. Charles recognized the faint knocking on the front door and slowly rolled from his bed, slugging down the hall. The entrance gave way and his eyes came to from the porch step, climbing up a pair of skinny, blue jeans and a gray sweater. They had a backpack slung over one shoulder and Charles’s hand left the door. Pierre gave a soft smile, it pried at the corners of his eyes as he tilted his head to greet him. The dull Monaco sun illuminated him the door frame, slipping over the locks of hair sheltering his ears and the ruby flesh of his flushed lips. A flood of relief relished itself at every inch of bone within himself and Charles leaned his head on his hand.

          He shook his head playfully in an amused manner, “Pierre--”

          Before he could finish, Pierre had pushed himself through the wide crack in the door, “--Je t'ai dit que je viendrais.” Maybe even they seemed more pleased with themself then the satisfaction that Charles felt in that moment. It is just as one says: they will become more beautiful until you cannot remember when you thought otherwise (he never had, however). The simplicity of it, the drag wear of his clothing and the dying sun of the evening made him appear rustic. They were always looking for fun. It would be a lie to say that Charles wasn’t expecting him to show up at some point, but only four days after their last phone call was quite a miracle, wasn’t it? A stroke of silence flirted with the air, no more so than when Pierre allowed his bag to land to the floorboards and his arms laced over the back of the younger’s neck. It was familiar, the way their arms tangled over Charles and how perfect the shape of his chin hooked over his shoulder. The fabric of their clothing and the shallow breaths trickling over fragile skin brought the greatest melodies to an empty dancefloor of a soul. They gave off a scent of home, it made Charles bury his nose deeper into their chest while pinching his eyes shut as if he may disappear.

          Charles heard their audible gasp as they ascended the stairs, crossed the hall and ended up in front of the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and the darkness pushed itself into the corridor. Immediately, Pierre went in, throwing his bag neatly in the corner and treding over to the curtains. “Il fait si sombre ici!”, he hollered, scolding, reaching his arms up and ripping them open. It didn’t help much considering the time of day but Charles still ended up blinking several times to allow his eyes to adjust to the change. “C'est mieux,” they put their hands on their hips and grinned with pride. Groaning, Charles flopped onto the top of the bed and buried his face into the pillow in shame. The mattress bounced up beside him a second later and he felt weight press his hoodie up against his back. He curved his head back to see Pierre laying over him, back arched, feet dangling over the end and his chin resting on his outstretched palm. The flutter of his eyelashes batted over tanned cheeks that appeared to have flecks of gold dotted across the carve of his nose.

          “Qu'est-ce que tu fais?”, Charles asked, stuffing his face back into the sheet in exhaustion.

          They smiled, “Rien.” But both knew fully well what he was doing: studying the creases of his lover's face and the tight, pallid lines around his mouth with reticent worry.

          Charles rolled his eyes, drawing the corners of his mouth down, “Tu es lourd!”

          Pierre frowned, kicking off the bed and standing up, scoping his eyes over the walls. “Nous devons nettoyer cela,” he pointed to the ruffled bed, the dirty clothes strewn over the carpet and the stack of cups and dishes forming mountains over the desk. He made a face and began kicking all of the items into a pile beside the bed.

          “Non,” Charles replied, throwing the covers of his head. “Nous devrions dormir à la place,” he thought he’d won and shut his eyes, breathing in the warm air of calm. Suddenly a shock of cold trembled over him as the covers were ripped off the bed, nearly dragging him to the floor. Pierre was standing over him, he inclined and planted two firm arms at the side of his head.

          “Se lever,” he demanded, drawing a little closer.

          Charles smirked, “Non.” He knew quite well the game that he was playing. 

          At flash of desire sprinted over their expression. “Allons…”, Pierre’s nose brushed his and a shiver dripped down his spine. Perhaps he felt just a slight bit vulnerable at this moment, and at the same time comfort that only Pierre would be able to master at once. It was as if they were using their fingers to carefully undress his heart.

          “Non--”

          They darted down to cut him off with a kiss, moving their lips together quickly with a roughness as though to make up for absent time. Charles didn’t even have time to close his eyes and he picked his head off the bed to make it last longer when Pierre pulled away. “A présent?”, he begged, pouting his lower lip and batting his long lashes.

          Charles smiled for the first time in what felt like a year, “D'accord.”

          Pierre grinned, booting Charles’s ass with his hand as he exited the room.

          Of course, the Frenchman went about washing his sheets, with Charles muttering _maman_ beneath his breath every couple of seconds. Charles’s parents were absent for a few days. “Et ton frere?”, they questioned, placing a pin in between their lips as they clipped up the sheets to dry. A rise of dishes sat toppled in the sink which Charles was attending to with a dishtowel drawn and resting over one shoulder. He paused for a moment, swallowing and shutting off the water.

          “Au Japon,” was all he said. It came out weak, vacant and hardly above a whisper as the clatter discontinued and his knuckles came back to grip the edge of the counter. “Il visite Jules.” His older brother had always been closer with him but a little pang riveted through him that he was not there as well. Pierre rounded the counter, a small bubble of emotional tension welling between there. The gentleness of their spirit had them clasping a palm over his jaw and drawing it back to his attention. Their eyes blinked, an edge of reassurance forcing itself into the shine of his expression. They simply observed one another for an occurrence in the kitchen lights until a glint went over Pierre’s eyes and he reached forward into the sink, scooping up soap suds and rubbing them into Charles’s hair. They laughed, disentangling themself and stepping back when Charles gasped in response, his mouth agape. “Connard!”, he snapped back, twisting the towel up and snapping it back at Pierre's leg who only put up his hands in defense while catching his breath. They ended up chasing each other into the hall, tripping over the stairs as they went. Even the hostile thoughts of his mind could not overtake the simple pleasures they took from each other’s company.

          “Quand as-tu pris une douche pour la dernière fois?”, Pierre wondered aloud after the washing was done and they’d each taken a half of the bed to dress.

          Charles paused, slapping a pillow up against the headboard. Embarrassed, he forced his focus to the floor, crouching down and shoving a corner of the bedding into the springs. “Je ne sais pas,” he mumbled, he’d practically been wearing the same thing for nearly a week. Now that he truly thought of it, he felt absolutely filthy (not only in body). 

          Pierre stuck a tongue out between his lips, “Nous devons le faire maintenant,” he chewed on his inner cheek and swallowed thickly. It is obvious and overwhelming but neither acted upon it. He filed out of the room and across to the bathroom down the hall without looking back once. Charles followed him leaving, blinking and shivered at the word and its implications:

 _Nous_.

          Charles quickly joined him, running a hand over the curve of their spine as he entered and Pierre was bent like a peddler, fiddling with the knobs of the shower. Steam was already coating the sheet of glass in the mirror and he stared at his haggard appearance until it was swallowed by the cloud of blurred air. He ignored this and the sudden twist of ill-feeling that came with it, he pulled his sweatshirt off of his torso and dropped it to the tiled floor. After his counter fixed a perfect temperature, they stepped back and grimaced at Charles who had propped himself against the white, ceramic basin. Pierre rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks dusted lightly with color. “Je suis...”, his eyes without intention traced over Charles’s bare chest and he mouthed, clenching his jaw, “...en quittant.” He chuckled to brush off his stiff mannerism. He reached for the door and began to step slowly out.

          Perhaps not thinking, or maybe entranced by how the rouge of his cheeks brought out the bright oceans of his eyes, Charles shot out a hand and caught him by the wrist. Pierre softened, the dull throb of his heartbeat traveling through the fibers of contact between them. He lured them back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind them with his other hand. “Rester,” he mumbled quietly. It felt weightless as dust yet had the ring of broken glass over a still, harmonious night. To coax Pierre, Charles reached forward, hauling at the ends of their shirt and tugging it over their head. He dropped it to the ground before sluggishly pressing forward to undo Pierre’s belt, slipping it out and itching his fingers over his waistline. It wasn’t as if they’d never… never seen one other, to say, but in this manner: no. A little story, written with simple, gentle touches instead that could fill the pages of any novel. He supposed it was him taking the lead, so Charles slowly shook his sweatpants off until he was completely bare and goosebumps collected over his surface. They didn’t always require these intimate moments because they both held a fondness for the beauty of one other’s souls rather then the glow of skin. Pierre recessed, stepping back from the wall and having his eyes travel, wandering over little curves of muscle or flesh that came with the boy in front of him.

          Flushed, Charles crossed his arms teasingly, “Ca va?” He sounded so calm, collected and cool despite the desperate flapping of wings in the hollow of his ribs.

          Pierre hesitated and then nodded, his lids shutting gently. Charles slid the glass shower door open at this and allowed the warm water to settle on his sheath. A minute later the door reopened again and something distant yet so very present swam in his lower abdomen. He forced his eyes shut underneath the water and he knew that he if turned around he’d find the source of the soothing breathing on his shoulder blade. Despite this, he peered over his shoulder. They were composed, hands staying resting by his side as if frightened to touch him like a cracked china doll. Charles twisted his body back and rubbed his fingers over his scalp. If he envisioned this with anyone else then it perhaps would of ended quite different. But it didn’t, it remained innocent in a satisfactory shape with the desire of craving without the ache of lust. Pierre’s fingers worked shampoo into his hair and Charles could be grateful for the pitter-patter of droplets drowning out a few coherent moans that freed past his loose tongue.

          Charles tilted his head back, allowing the column of his neck vulnerability to bladed lips that stormed over his skin. It started gentle, a press of a mouth to his shoulder, the back of his neck and then his collar bone. Before long the soap was gone and Pierre’s abdomen was against his back, the shifting spark of touch bringing another foreign language to something so simple of an action. Facing each other, Charles could nearly count his matted eyelashes as he shoveled the wet hair off their forehead and placed a hand behind the back of his neck before slipping their lips together. This time, he did have time to close his eyes. They are fighting back now, pushing him up against the wall of the shower and leading hungry nips out the corner of his mouth to the span of angular jaw. This time he can’t help it, a shudder of warm breath exits his mouth and they’ve settled a knee on his thigh to hold him steady. Charles threads his fingers up through the back of their brown hair, twisting and curling it in his fingers as Pierre moves his caresses over to the column of throat that was tossed back and open for him.

          “Beau, Charles…”, they huff and through a haze of water they blinked out with wide eyes. Pierre trailed his fingers over and depressed his fingers into his hips, digging and kissing him harshly one last time by the ear. “Tu frissonnes?”, they motioned and Charles only noticed then that his hands were shaking. Neither of them knew how long they’d been doing this... this intimacy because now the water was _froid_  and Pierre was shivering beneath his palms. They could do that: feel just as the winter sun on a January morning; oddly comforting through long, enduring frost.

          Stepping out of the shower, Charles loosely tied a towel around his waist, opening the door and groaning at the temperature change in the hall. Pierre padded behind him, “Mon petit?”, he called. Charles hummed in reply innocently and Pierre grinned before reaching over the ripping the towel out from his hips. Laughing, they slid down the hall leaving the other to chase after him. They had thrown the towel on the bed and were propped with one foot up by the door by the time Charles made it to the room. They smirked and perked a brow up on his forehead. The younger only shook his hair, beads of water fraying out as he did this.

          “Imbecile.”

          Pierre only smiled, his breath hot when he whispered, “Tu sais que tu m'aimes.”

          Charles didn’t give him the satisfaction of a proper answer although perhaps the sarcastic grin that rose up over his cheeks was enough of the truth for him. They both threw on a t-shirt, briefs and nothing else before climbing under the covers. For a moment Charles lay staring at the slices of blinds that canvassed the ceiling in silence as Pierre tried to find the right angle to fit the other’s head into the crook of his neck. The younger twisted over, seeing their chest pressure up and down in a certain peaceful harmony, “combien de temps restes-tu?”

          Their eyes shot open at the question, “quatre jours.” He sighed in a melancholy show and shifted to allow their eyes to lock.

          “Ils sont trop courts.”

          “Je sais.”

          They forget about this fact for now, they both just remain wrapped up each other’s arms skin to skin with limbs intertwined so simply. They fall asleep immediately to heartbeats that sound just the same and the lull of embrace. They think the same thing too:

_How lucky can one get?_

          Pierre cradles his body over Charles and reminds him of this everyday.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed comment, kudos etc I love comments very dearly they actually motivate me to continue writing. If you need to contact me its @sonofhistory or @pieregasly
> 
> FRENCH TRANSLATIONS:  
> Je t'ai dit que je viendrais = I told you I would come  
> Il fait si sombre ici! = It is dark in here!  
> C'est mieux = It's better  
> Qu'est-ce que tu fais? = What are you doing?  
> Tu es lourd! = You are heavy!  
> Nous devons nettoyer cela = We have to clean that  
> Non = No  
> Se lever = Get up  
> Allons = Come on  
> A présent? = Now?  
> D'accord = Okay  
> Et votre frere? = And your brother?  
> Au Japon = In Japan  
> Il visite Jules = He is visiting Jules  
> Connard! = Asshole!  
> Quand as-tu pris une douche pour la dernière fois? = How long has it been since you last took a shower?  
> Je ne sais pas = I don't know  
> Nous devons le faire maintenant = We must do that now  
> Je suis...en quittant = I am leaving  
> rester = stay  
> Ca va? = Alright?  
> Beau = Beautiful  
> Tu frissonnes? = You shiver?  
> Mon petit? = My little? (Pierre and Charles literally call each other that on Instagram)  
> Imbecile = Imbecile  
> Tu sais que tu m'aimes = You know you love me  
> combien de temps restes-tu? = how long are you staying?  
> quatre jours = four days  
> Ils sont trop courts = it is too short  
> Je sais = I know


End file.
